


with your chest heaving

by fwop



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Bottom Qui-Gon Jinn, GFY, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Teacher-Student Relationship, Top Obi-Wan Kenobi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:14:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24118594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fwop/pseuds/fwop
Summary: “I pressed on them,” he tells Qui-Gon, who hums. “The bruises.”“Did you touch yourself?” he asks.“I wanted to,” Obi-Wan admits, but he didn’t. Ever since this started, he waits, patient and still, for these moments between them.
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 27
Kudos: 168





	with your chest heaving

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Orientalld](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orientalld/gifts).



> So... in my _Obikin_ discord server (HA)... I have a channel for talking about other star wars ships that we like. We got on the subject of QuiObi and I wrote out a thing with a fellow servermate in which Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan fucked in Qui-Gon's study. This is a sequel to that kinda, but you don't have to read it to understand this because it's just straight up porn (with some emotions). Nobody wanted to write Top!Obi so I took up the challenge. #letquigonbottom2k20 
> 
> Also, this is the first time I've really, legitimately written QuiObi and I will not be taking criticism, thank you.
> 
> Thank you, Sarah, for reading this over and thank you, Victoria, for urging me to write the bottom!qui we deserve (qui-gon himself included).

The silent but insistent summons from Qui-Gon through their bond has Obi-Wan bowing a quick goodbye to Vokara Che.   
  
  
His stomach clenches, the feeling of anticipation spreading through his chest so that he feels light and heavy all that once. After last week, in Qui-Gon’s study, something wholly unexpected but… _incredibly_ fulfilling, Obi-Wan has been unable to think of little else. He’d pressed on the bruises on his hips for as long as they were painful, eyes going glassy at the remembered experience.  
  
  
Master Qui-Gon would give him that infuriating, amused grin if he knew, but Obi-Wan feels like he’s gotten _much_ better at shielding. (Thanks to some tips from Quinlan Vos, which he will _never_ mention to anyone else. Best not to give Quinlan a bigger ego than he already has.)

This arrangement between them… it’s strange, but it works. Qui-Gon uses these encounters doubly, as both reward _and_ lesson, as all things are _to_ Qui-Gon. He trusts in the living Force, thinks of the here and now, _learns_ from the here and now any chance he gets. 

The brief affection Qui-Gon allows to enter in the space they create between them… he isn’t supposed to, but Obi-Wan can’t _help_ but crave it. He is a Jedi and Jedi are not supposed to hold _attachment_ to anything, but Obi-Wan _knows_ , in his heart, he will never be able to meet that standard. It is his greatest folly. 

Qui-Gon chose him when Obi-Wan had felt… abandoned and discarded. He didn’t have to, but he did. Obi-Wan can’t just forget that. It meant-- _still_ means the world to him. 

The longer this goes on between them, the worse it will get for Obi-Wan. He knows that. But… it soothes him. Sitting between his Master’s thighs, a sure hand running through his shorn hair-- he can think of no safer place to be. 

Turning the corner, Obi-Wan knocks at Qui-Gon’s door, hearing a muted ‘enter’ from the other side. 

He opens the door and secures it behind him with a code to lock it. It is a ritual he knows well. 

“Master,” he says, bowing in greeting. He smiles at Qui-Gon, who gives him a customary tilt of the head, a barely there grin curling his lips. 

“Padawan,” he teases and Obi-Wan takes it for the invitation it is, coming around the desk in order to slip underneath-- except this time, Qui-Gon’s hand stops him. 

Panic floods his system, mind instantly running through all the scenarios in which this could end. Qui-Gon has changed his mind and no longer wants this. He has deemed Obi-Wan unworthy because of last weekend. He has _found someone better_... 

“Ease, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon says, a mild concern on his features. “Live in the moment, not in what you believe the future _could_ be.”

Okay… so maybe he _isn't_ all that good shielding. 

“Yes, Master,” he answers obediently, face burning. 

“Last week,” Qui-Gon starts, hand still holding Obi-Wan’s bicep in a gentle grip, “you showed incredible patience and stamina.”

Obi-Wan nods, trying not to preen under the praise. 

“This week,” Qui-Gon says, standing from his usual seat and pulling Obi-Wan with him, “we will try something new.” 

Heart flipping, Obi-Wan can only go along with him. Despite Qui-Gon’s insistence to stay in the present, the endless possibilities flash before his eyes anyway, though he forces himself to let the thoughts flow into the Force. 

They go so far as to venture into Qui-Gon’s personal quarters, which Obi-Wan has only been in a few times. It’s the perfect place for meditation-- his open, sliding doors reveal a personal courtyard, surrounded by tall, sturdy walls. The sun filters into the room, illuminating strips of the floor. There are plants all over, things Qui-Gon has picked up from his travels (and something Obi-Wan has adopted in his own room with less finesse). 

“Come. Sit,” Qui-Gon offers him, and Obi-Wan takes the customary position on his knees, facing Qui-Gon, who has started to strip already. He swallows heavily as Qui-Gon reveals the sturdy body underneath his Jedi attire. The hard work he completes each day is showcased in the muscles lining his frame, his skin golden from days spent in the sun. Qui-Gon is a _big_ man, in all sense of the word. Larger than life, physically, spiritually. His Force presence is indescribable and completely his own. 

He is unashamed of his naked form in a way that Obi-Wan hopes to one day embody. Obi-Wan is in his twenties but still feels like a lanky teen, smaller than his fellow Jedi. He wears layers to make himself seem less so, but he’s not sure if he’s fooling anyone. 

In only a loose outer robe, Qui-Gon sits cross-legged on the floor nearby, in front of him. 

“Today, my spirited Padawan, I give you permission to have _my_ body in whatever way you desire,” he announces and Obi-Wan lifts a brow at him, his mouth parting in shock. 

“I-- Master Qui-Gon--” He can’t seem to get the words out, and once again the possibilities flood his vision, making it entirely impossible to focus. 

“Center yourself. Breathe,” Qui-Gon orders, not unkindly, and Obi-Wan obeys, the urge to please overriding any anxiety or excitement. “In what way do you wish to have me?” 

He mulls over it for a moment. He’s had Qui-Gon’s cock heavy on his tongue more times than he can count. Qui-Gon has been inside him fewer times than that. A heavy hand has jerked him off until he spilled in the quiet space of his Master’s study. Qui-Gon’s fingers have teased him to completion. 

All of these moments have been immeasurably pleasurable. They have been gifts, lessons, and relief in one. 

But there is something he hasn’t been able to try, though he’s thought about it in the dark of his room just before sleep. 

“I’d like to have _you_ this time, Master,” he answers, sure of himself. Qui-Gon smiles in amusement, like he already knew what the answer would be. 

“Have me you shall then, Obi-Wan. But understand-- our lessons still apply here.” 

It sends Obi-Wan’s heart rabbiting into motion, his mouth going dry. He’s been through many trials as a Padawan learner, but nothing gets his heart going the way it is right now. Still, he’s aware of Qui-Gon’s words. He _must_ be mindful of himself, even in this. 

Qui-Gon reaches into the inner pocket of his robe, producing a small vial of oil. 

“It’s been a very long time since anyone has had me this way,” Qui-Gon says, unknowing of what the words do to Obi-Wan. “I trust you remember what to do?”

How could he _not_? The first time Qui-Gon had fitted a large finger into him is not something he can easily forget. The times after that, even less so. 

“I do,” he answers instead, taking the bottle with a steady hand. 

Qui-Gon disrobes himself, one shoulder at a time, letting the cloth pool onto the floor. The sun is still filtering in, his face in shadow, but the light hitting his body just so. 

To Obi-Wan’s secret pleasure, Qui-Gon is already half-stocked, as if he is also anticipating the pleasure to be had. It humbles Obi-Wan, as much as it sends a tendril of heat licking down into his belly. 

Crawling forward on his knees, Obi-Wan grins something confident and cocky at Qui-Gon, who smiles in return. He lets Obi-Wan push him backwards with a hand to his bare chest, onto the pillows he’s situated for them, laughing in that soft way of his at his initiative. 

Obi-Wan pushes his knees apart and shifts between them, leaning up to swipe a long piece of hair behind Qui-Gon’s ear. 

He presses a brief kiss to Qui-Gon’s lips, lingering a moment before moving back and standing, stripping himself of his own robes. Qui-Gon’s eyes are on him, taking in the still-fading bruises from last week. 

Obi-Wan retakes his position over Qui-Gon, rubbing his calloused hands on toned thighs. 

“I pressed on them,” he tells Qui-Gon, who hums. “The bruises.”

“Did you touch yourself?” he asks. 

“I wanted to,” Obi-Wan admits, but he didn’t. Ever since this started, he waits, patient and still, for these moments between them. 

Qui-Gon grins at him, the skin around his eyes crinkling, and Obi-Wan aches to touch him properly. So he opens the vial and pours the smallest bit of oil on his palm, rubbing his hands together to warm it. 

Qui-Gon’s cock isn’t even fully erect and already Obi-Wan can barely touch his fingers together when he wraps a hand around him. He takes his time, fascinated by how Qui-Gon fills, hot and heavy, right there in Obi-Wan’s palm. There is no noise to let him know how he’s doing, but he feels that’s proof enough that he’s doing something right. Qui-Gon has no reservations about telling him to stop. 

Obi-Wan lets Qui-Gon’s cock fall to his belly, rubbing his hand all the way from his balls to the tip a few times. He grabs at another pillow, Qui-Gon’s thigh muscles tensing as he lifts his hips for Obi-Wan to slide it underneath him. 

The vial is opened again and Obi-Wan applies a liberal amount of oil to his fingers. His heart is fluttering as he sets the bottle aside. It thuds when he circles his middle finger around Qui-Gon’s rim, spreading the oil over it, watching as it quivers at the intrusion. 

He presses a hesitant finger inside, gritting his teeth at how Qui-Gon clings to it, trying _not_ to think of his cock in that hot pressure just yet. It will undo him before he’s even started. 

“You’re thinking too much,” Qui-Gon’s deep voice almost startles him, and he nods, sinking in further. Just like he remembers Qui-Gon doing, he crooks his finger, finding that spot he knows from experience feels _incredible_. 

Qui-Gon grunts, his toes digging into the floor just slightly. 

“ _Very_ good,” he breathes, and Obi-Wan does it again, just to watch his eyebrows furrow, his mouth part. He relents by rubbing idly, pushing another finger in with care. Obi-Wan could do this all night-- catalog Qui-Gon’s minute expressions with every curl and caress of his fingers. Qui-Gon seems to enjoy it very much, eyes closing, lashes fluttering every so often.

Obi-Wan’s own dick is hard and an angry red-- the urge to throw caution to the wind and just rut into Qui-Gon is overwhelming, but he releases it into the Force the best he can. Even in this, he must show patience. 

Qui-Gon clenches around him almost involuntarily as he passes over that spot again, and it makes Obi-Wan hot all over. The way he _feels_...

He removes his fingers, pressing his lips to Qui-Gon’s knee and following along his inner thigh with open-mouthed kisses. He sucks a mark at the crease of his thigh, drawing a sigh of pleasure from Qui-Gon, a minute tensing of his calf muscles. 

Taking up his cock again, he swallows it without preamble, relishing the noise Qui-Gon makes in the back of his throat. Obi-Wan has done this many times but it never gets old. The salty taste of him, the weight of his cock, how his mouth stretches around him obscenely-- he loves it. Squeezing at the thick base with his hand, he takes him in as far as he can, knows there’s a bulge in his throat where his Master’s cock sits. 

Holding there as long as he can, he pulls back and ducks down again, again, and again, lips over teeth. Qui-Gon’s breathing quickens above him. 

“Good,” he says, and the confirmation settles over him. 

He groans around Qui-Gon’s length, his own cock spurting pre-come just from this alone. He could seek Qui-Gon’s pleasure and use it as his own. Breathing through his nostrils, he focuses on the pleasure leaking through their shared Master-Padawan bond. 

A tug at his braid has him pulling up, Qui-Gon’s cock slapping wet and stiff against his belly. 

“If you keep going like that,” Qui-Gon says in amusement, “I won’t last very long.” 

A surge of pride fills him before he reigns it in. Jedi aren’t prideful-- or, at least, they shouldn’t be. Opening the vial again before slicking his sensitive cock, he wishes he could draw this out, but there is so little time for them as it is. 

He looks up to find Qui-Gon watching him quietly, a certain warmth in his expression. He tries not to flush but probably fails. 

“I’ve thought about this,” he admits, and Qui-Gon nods, though he doesn’t seem disappointed. 

“I must admit,” Qui-Gon says, “I have too.” 

The admission humbles him, and he nods quickly before he does something embarrassing. Instead, he spreads Qui-Gon’s thighs further apart and guides the head of his cock to the tight ring of muscles at Qui-Gon’s entrance. 

They’re facing one another, but Obi-Wan can’t help but watch his cock disappear _into_ Qui-Gon, closing his eyes as that hot warmth engulfs him. He has to grasp at Qui-Gon’s waist pathetically as he inches inside, hot to his core like the burning surface of Mustafar as he seats himself completely. 

He wants-- _aches_ with the desire to _move_ , but instead breathes and goes slowly, pulling out, out and pushing back in. It’s a torturous pace and Obi-Wan’s tenuous control on his shielding suffers for the concentration he has to use to keep it up. 

“Oh--” Qui-Gon says suddenly, eyes finding Obi-Wan’s. “You feel-- Obi-Wan?”

“Sorry--” he says, trying to close it up, but Qui-Gon squeezes around him. 

“Keep it open,” he says, the timbre of his voice pitching low, his pupils dilated. 

Obi-Wan’s hips snap forward at the words, like he can’t help it and it punches a noise right from Qui-Gon. So he does it again, leaning over Qui-Gon, so he can brace his arms on either side of him and _really_ roll his hips. 

“ _Kriff_ ,” Qui-Gon swears, hands finding Obi-Wan’s back and sliding down, squeezing at his ass as if urging him forward. 

Obi-Wan obliges, intent and forceful. His hips jerk over and over, getting deeper and deeper on each thrust and Qui-Gon is lifting his own hips, meeting him in the middle. Obi-Wan lets his thoughts stream through the bond-- pleasure and reverence and love-- and Qui-Gon groans freely, pulling at his braid so their mouths can crush together, slick and wet and uncoordinated. 

It surprises Obi-Wan, but he has little time to think about it, pulling back to rest his forehead to Qui-Gon’s as he pants, fucking into his Master again and again and again. Qui-Gon’s mouth has fallen open as he looks down at where they meet, his cock dribbling all over his belly.  
  
He changes the pace again, easing up, hips undulating as if he’s dancing. The pressure is _unreal_ , waves of pleasure drawing strange noises from him as he plunges into that velvet warmth. Qui-Gon’s skin is turning a bit pink, his nipples tight and Obi-Wan leans down to press a flat tongue against them. 

Qui-Gon doesn’t have to say anything for Obi-Wan to know it feels good. He can _feel_ it through their bond, zinging down his spine like the pleasure is his own. Nibbling, sucking, licking-- he makes sure the other nipple is properly tended to, Qui-Gon’s hand winding into the short hair at the back of his neck. 

When he looks back up, Qui-Gon’s teeth are clenched, his nostrils flaring. It makes him groan again, his cock spurting pre-come where he’s inside and the feeling urges him to snap his hips quickly, wanting to be so much closer. 

Obi-Wan has never seen Qui-Gon like this when they fuck, nor has he ever felt him like this-- he’s always in so much control. It makes him more confident, makes him feel dizzy. He pulls out. 

“Turn over,” he says, and Qui-Gon doesn’t even question it, just rolls onto his knees. Obi-Wan presses back in, the new angle making him shudder, making Qui-Gon sigh. Gathering Qui-Gon’s long hair over his shoulder, he pulls at it, which earns him a sharp noise and the rewarding feeling of Qui-Gon tensing around him. 

“I have you, Master,” Obi-Wan says and thrills as Qui-Gon hisses, bucking back onto him as he yanks on the long strands. 

He keeps his hold taut as he picks his pace back up, thrusting in _hard_ , the sound of his hips slapping against flesh filling the room. It’s obscene. Qui-Gon is breathing raggedly, his thighs shaking slightly, his cock hanging heavy between his legs.

Obi-Wan falls forward, covering Qui-Gon’s back, rutting into him like some animal, pressing open-kisses to his Master’s heated skin. He can’t keep on like this, tension building at the base of his spine, his balls drawing up tighter and tighter.

  
  
“ _Yes_ , Padawan,” Qui-Gon says mindlessly. 

He can feel Qui-Gon’s pleasure mingling with his own, feels it as if he’s wearing a second skin, and knows Qui-Gon is _so_ close. They’re both hot on the inside, hot everywhere, hot where they connect, beads of sweat dripping down slick skin. It’s desperate the way Obi-Wan drives forward, and it must be embarrassing, the sounds he’s making, but he can’t help it. It spills out of him, is pulled from his very gut-- _having_ his Master, knowing him this way. 

The surrounding Force is a maelstrom around them, he can feel it licking at his skin like flame. It calls out to him, and he answers, almost crying out when it pulses through them. It feels like drinking honeyed-mead, like lightning flaring around them. 

“ _Obi-Wan_ ,” Qui-Gon gasps, but doesn’t get much further. He curses and his cock jerks, his whole body tensing, and he fucks himself back onto Obi-Wan even as Obi-Wan drives into him, drawing long spurts from him until Qui-Gon himself is making guttural, sexed out noises, arms crumbling beneath him. 

Obi-Wan can’t withstand the onslaught-- seizing up, eyes rolling back, mouth open as he comes and comes, Qui-Gon still pulsing around him. It feels as if time is halting, everything in slow motion, all senses centered on the hot, heavy bursts of pleasure between his legs. 

Coming down suddenly, he pants, releasing Qui-Gon’s hips and wondering if bruises will bloom there, like they did for him. He lets his breathing come back to him, soothing a hand up the length of Qui-Gon’s spine as his Master catches his own breath. 

He pulls out, cock wet and spent and helps Qui-Gon turn back over, throwing the pillow Qui-Gon ruined to the side. Qui-Gon huffs, giving Obi-Wan an impressed once-over. 

“You still surprise me sometimes, Obi-Wan,” he says. He looks satisfied, neck still blotchy red, thighs still shaking. 

“I should hope so,” Obi-Wan teases, smile lopsided. 

“Your creativity with the Force was unexpected. Most Jedi aren’t comfortable using it for such things.”

“I went with my instincts, Master. The Force guided me the rest of the way.” 

They go quiet and Qui-Gon sits up, cupping Obi-Wan’s face in his hand. 

“Your thoughts…,” he mentions, but Obi-Wan shakes his head. 

“I know. It won’t happen again. It can't.” 

Qui-Gon nods, his eyes full of apologies, leaning forward to kiss him, soft and slow. Obi-Wan grasps at his wrist, even as it slides down to where Qui-Gon tugs at his braid. 

“Join me. We’ll shower together. You can help me get the hard to reach areas.” 

Obi-Wan smiles, even if his eyes are still watery. 

“Of course, my Master.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Did you enjoy it? Was it a dumpster fire?


End file.
